Now, as she worked busily in the banqueting hall, she reflected on how far she had travelled since those dark days. Penny had been determined that her previous life would just cease to exist, that she would make a brand-new start. And that was what she had achieved.
She was never going to be so madly unhappy again.
She looked down the high table with a critical eye. Everything looked beautiful! Each place setting was a work of art. Tara was still setting out the individual vases of flowers. Penny had made them low and wide, so they wouldn’t be knocked over easily, and so that Her Worship’s guests wouldn’t have to peer round them to talk to each other.
The big arrangements that flanked the tables had turned out spectacular, even though the yellow gladioli she had envisioned had been toned down to a more subtle cream.
And everything went perfectly with the big centrepiece she had set up in the square formed by the four long tables. That space was to have been left empty, but at the last minute she’d had a brainwave. She was particularly proud of that.
The mayor and her private secretary bustled in now to take a last look. Her Worship was a diminutive, fiercely energetic woman who prided herself on her modern views—which was why, Penny suspected, she had chosen a newcomer to do her banquet, rather than one of the well-established, but old-fashioned, town florists.
‘It’s exquisite!’ she enthused, patting Penny on the shoulder. ‘Truly magnificent, Miss Watkins. That centrepiece is wonderful!’
‘Thank you,’ Penny smiled.
‘A perfect autumnal note,’ the mayor went on. ‘The bare branches giving a home to new life, the old nurturing the new—it’s quite an illustration of my mayoralty, don’t you think, Daphne?’
‘Absolutely, Your Worship,’ the obsequious secretary chimed, her timing as perfect as a Swiss clock.
‘Very original, Penny,’ the mayor affirmed. ‘I don’t know where you creative people get all your ideas!’
Hippy Dave had helped with this one, though she could scarcely tell the mayor that; for the spectacular centrepiece was none other than the dead tree that he had brought to her workshop that morning.
Penny had attacked it with a saw borrowed from Miles Clampett, had trimmed it into a more elegant shape, then had decorated the bare branches with birds’ nests—each nest containing a brood of fluffy ‘chicks’—gold and silver ribbon and flower buds on the point of opening. Artfully lit with concealed highlighters, it looked stark and exciting.
‘I think you can count on my patronage next year,’ the mayor murmured into Penny’s ear as she left. ‘Well done, Penny!’
And thus, Penny smiled to herself, had the humblest of the mayor’s flock contributed to the banquet in no small way. She could almost forgive Hippy Dave.
Tara had finished setting out the posies. It was now over to the caterers and the master of ceremonies. She got ready to leave, winding her scarf around her slender throat. It had been a long, cold day, and she was looking forward to getting back to her own nest.
With a final word to Tara, she slipped out of the banquet hall—and straight into a pair of strong arms that closed possessively around her slim frame.
‘Not so fast,’ Ryan said.
‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped, looking up into his face.
‘Your partner suggested I take a look at your work,’ he said smoothly. ‘So here I am. Now, show me what you’ve done.’
She disengaged herself from his arms, her face still tight from the unwelcome shock. ‘It’s no big deal, Ryan. Look all you want. I’m going home.’
‘In a moment,’ he growled, catching her hand, his fingers twining possessively through hers. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’
‘Let me go!’ she hissed, trying not to make a scene in front of everybody.
But he was leading her remorselessly back to the table. ‘Very pretty,’ he said, his grey eyes taking everything in with that swift way he had. ‘Not very original, considering what you’re capable of—but pretty.’
‘It’s a mayor’s banquet, not a gathering of your glittering London friends,’ she retorted, stung by his faint praise. ‘They wanted pretty, not original.’
‘But I see you were unable to totally squelch your creative instincts,’ he said. ‘There is one authentic touch. That dead-tree arrangement is inspired.’
‘You like that, do you?’ she said drily.
‘Fledglings and flower buds on dead branches. Very symbolic.’ He was wearing a jacket cut from buttery Italian leather, which fitted him like a dream and smelled delicious. She remembered it well—she’d chosen it for him in Milan, and had given it to him for a birthday. She also remembered what had happened after that—how he’d draped the jacket around her slim, naked shoulders, how he’d made love to her wearing that, and nothing else. ‘There’s an empty space in the entrance of Northcote Hall. An arrangement like that would go very well there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said sweetly, ‘that piece is a one-off. I don’t repeat myself.’
‘Then think of something else,’ he said, his chiselled mouth quirking in a slight smile. She had always found his mouth devastatingly attractive, with its combination of authority and sensuality. As if he’d read her thoughts like a book, he bent his dark head and kissed her on the lips. The contact was electric, and she flinched. ‘Sorry,’ he said ironically, ‘did that hurt?’
‘You’re trespassing,’ she warned him.
He looked her over, taking in her less than elegant work clothes with a wicked smile. ‘Yes, I can see that you have “no trespassers” written all over you. Where were you skipping off to when I met you?’
‘Home.’
‘Good. I’ll come with you.’
‘You can’t!’ she exclaimed.
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘Somebody’s waiting for me there!’
One eyebrow lifted disdainfully. ‘That yokel who was pawing you this morning?’
‘Ryan, don’t do this,’ she said in a low voice. ‘We have nothing to say to one another.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said firmly. ‘There’s a great deal to be said on both sides. We need to talk, Penny. And we’re going to talk, whether you like it or not. We can talk here, in front of the mayor and her councillors. Or we can go somewhere more private. If you won’t take me to your place, then I’ll take you to mine.’
One glance at his face told her he meant it. She was not prepared to let him take her off to some unknown destination, so there was no choice.
‘I live around the corner,’ she said, capitulating.
‘And nobody is waiting for you there?’
‘No.’
‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Let’s get moving.’
They walked out into the cold evening air. It was already starting to freeze again, and Penny’s breath made a white cloud around her lips.
‘Why are you keeping up this charade about Northcote Hall?’ she asked him. ‘You don’t need to. Ariadne isn’t here to be impressed.’
‘It’s no charade,’ he replied.
She glanced at him sharply. ‘You mean you really are staying there?’
‘When I finally found out where you were hiding, I asked my people to find me a suitable rental as close to you as possible. A suburban bungalow would hardly suit my needs.’
‘Oh, hardly,’ she echoed with sarcasm. ‘The great Ryan Wolfe in a lowly semi-detached? Perish the thought.’
‘I meant only that I need to entertain. You know that. The people I work with are wealthy. They are used to things that—what was the word you used? Glitter. Northcote was the obvious choice. It’s been standing empty. The owners are desperate to sell. They’re renting it to me at a reasonable rate on the principle, “try before you buy”.’
‘The same principle you applied to me,’ she said brightly as they rounded the corner. ‘You’re such a good businessman, my dear. And oh, goodness, it looks as if your dashing sports car is parked right outside my house. I didn’t reall
y need to tell you where I lived, did I?’
‘Why did you hide from me for so long?’ he asked her. ‘You’ve wasted a year of our lives, Penny. Do you have any idea how much effort and heartache I’ve invested in finding you again?’
She made no reply. His silver-grey car was indeed parked outside her front door. She walked past it and opened up. Ryan followed her into the dark interior.
‘Have you bought this place?’ he demanded as she switched on the light in the tiny hall.
‘I’m renting it from Ariadne’s sister.’ She knelt by the hearth and lit the fire she had prepared that morning. Flames licked swiftly around the logs. ‘It’s at the opposite end of the social scale from your Northcote Hall, but otherwise it’s exactly the same. It’s been standing empty for years and the owner is desperate to sell.’
‘You’ve made it beautiful,’ he commented, looking around at her décor.
‘My usual little touches of camouflage,’ she shrugged. ‘When the rising damp meets the sagging roof, I’ll have to move out.’
Ryan walked around the cottage, like a panther stalking round a new domain. He was looking at the paintings hanging on the walls and the sculptures that disguised ugly corners. He did not need to ask whether the art works were by her—by now he knew her style well enough.
Penny pulled off her coat and scarf and warmed her cold hands at the rising flames. ‘Do you want a drink? I’m going to have a whisky on the rocks.’
It was a drink she had learned to like with Ryan. He nodded, but made no other comment. While she poured the drinks, he was stroking the curves of a sculpture with one of his strong yet sensitive hands. ‘So you got to sculpt in wood, after all,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re very good. And your style has matured,’ he said.
‘I’ve matured,’ she said.
‘I can see that. You have a lot more to say.’
‘To say?’
‘About yourself. About what you see in the world.’ He accepted the drink she offered him. ‘You’ve become an adult.’
‘How kind of you.’ She didn’t bother raising her glass in a toast, but took a much-needed gulp of the fiery whisky. ‘We’d better sit by the fire. This house is cold and damp.’
There was one sofa, facing the fire. The glow of the flames provided a warm light. She did not switch on any more lights, not wanting him to see how bare the cottage really was, beneath the artistic touches she had lavished on it.
They sat facing each other. The rosy light that gave her smooth, pale face an alabaster glow made his look even more rugged and masculine than usual.
Or perhaps he had lost weight; his straight, Norman nose seemed more pronounced than usual, and there were shadows in the cleft of that masterfully erotic mouth.
‘You look tired,’ she commented.
‘I’ve been in meetings in London all day,’ he replied.
‘Not that kind of tired. A deeper tiredness. Too many parties, perhaps?’
‘Parties?’ he repeated. ‘Since you left me, my life has been nothing but work. Work, and hunting for you.’
‘Well,’ she said with a brittle smile, ‘you obviously have plenty on your mind, Ryan. So, now that you’ve caught me at last, why don’t you go ahead and say it?’
CHAPTER THREE
‘WHERE did you go after you ran from me?’ he asked.
‘I went back west, to Exeter. I had some friends there.’
‘And that’s where you got sick?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you get encephalitis?’
‘They could never tell me how I caught it. It started with a terrible headache, that horrible last weekend in London. Remember how sick I was?’
‘Yes,’ he said grimly. ‘I remember.’
‘At first I thought I had bad flu. Then I started to vomit on the train. I couldn’t stop. The first doctor I saw didn’t recognise the symptoms, so there was a delay. I went into convulsions. By the time they got me to hospital, I was going into a coma.’
‘Penny, I’m so sorry.’ His face was tight. ‘Why didn’t you call me? I know we were fighting like tigers, but in those circumstances nothing else would have mattered. I would have run to you.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I remember telephoning you from the station. I think the voice-mail service picked up. I probably didn’t say anything.’
‘Oh, Penny. If you’d left one word—’
‘I wasn’t in a fit state to say much,’ she shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘And you say you were unconscious when you had the miscarriage?’ he asked, his eyes intent.
Penny took another gulp of her whisky. ‘Yes.’
‘How long were you in the coma?’
‘A few days. The antibiotics worked. I was very lucky. After a couple of weeks, they discharged me.’
‘And then?’
She shrugged again. ‘Then I got on with the rest of my life.’
‘You didn’t even bother to tell me your pregnancy was over.’
‘I wrote to you,’ she exclaimed. ‘I know I did.’
‘I never received a word.’ His eyes were hard.
Penny shrugged. ‘Maybe it got lost.’
‘You’re sure you wrote to me?’
‘Ryan, I had just recovered from a brain inflammation. I was scarcely in my right mind. The doctors couldn’t even tell me whether I was going to have permanent brain damage or not!’
‘And do you have any brain damage?’ he asked, watching her over the rim of his whisky glass.
‘What do you care?’ she retorted.
‘I care a great deal. So tell me the truth.’
‘I had to take anticonvulsant medication to prevent seizures. For a while.’
His penetrating grey eyes assessed her. ‘For a while?’
‘I didn’t like the side-effects. So I stopped taking it.’
‘The doctors must have been concerned, surely.’
‘I didn’t tell them.’
‘Was that wise?’
‘It was my decision. I felt much better the moment I stopped the medication. And nothing has gone wrong since.’
His gaze stayed on her for a long, assessing moment, then moved from her to the paintings, dimly visible in the firelight. ‘But the experience changed you.’
‘It was a bad experience. And now I don’t want to discuss it any further.’
‘But I need to know everything, Penny.’
‘That’s too bad.’
‘You have to understand,’ he said evenly, ‘that the last words you spoke to me were a threat to abort our child—’
‘Oh, is that it?’ she cut in. ‘You’re still wondering about that? Whether I am an evil, calculating, vicious woman, ready to commit any bloodthirsty act to get back at you.’
‘Of course you aren’t any of those things.’
‘Then why are you so suspicious? Are you so afraid that I’m really a monster?’
‘I know you’re not a monster,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘I wouldn’t love you so much if you were.’
His words made her heart flip over like a hooked fish. ‘Ryan, don’t.’
‘But even if you were a monster,’ he went on, ‘I would still love you. Helplessly and completely. I can’t help loving you, you see. I was born to do it. When you love like that, it’s probably not important to know anything about the one you love. It doesn’t matter anyway, as you’ve just said. But somehow, I can’t help wanting to find out.’
Her hands were trembling as she drained the whisky. ‘Then I shall take great pleasure in keeping that knowledge from you,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘You can just keep wondering whether I’m a liar and maybe worse.’
He had not touched the whisky with his lips yet. Now he tossed the contents of his glass into the fire with a flick of his wrist. The whisky flared into hot green and blue flames, while the ice cubes hissed and evaporated on the embers.
‘Do you know what it’s like to love
someone, Penny?’ he asked. ‘I thought you did, but I must have been wrong.’
She had flinched at the blazing whisky in the hearth. The coloured flames died down now, with a hot reek of vaporised alcohol. ‘You were wrong,’ she said.
‘It’s a pity. So you don’t know what it’s like to desire another person with such intensity that their body becomes a whole world to you. A world whose landscape you live in, whose tastes and smells you yearn for, every waking minute. A world you can never forget, no matter how much time passes, no matter how much distance comes between, no matter how many sad things happen.’
The firelight was dancing in his eyes, and her gaze was drawn inexorably to his as he went on, his voice husky and low.
‘And you don’t know what it’s like to ache for another person’s tenderness—and not to find it. To look for a face you love so much it hurts—and not see it. To yearn for a voice that you can no longer hear.’
‘That’s not love,’ she said unsteadily. ‘That’s obsession.’
‘Then I’m obsessed,’ he said. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘Obsession is more dangerous,’ she replied.
He shook his dark head. ‘Only to me. Not to you.’
‘You’re dangerous to me, Ryan. That’s why I had to get away from you.’
‘You were too young to understand then,’ he replied. He reached out and drew his fingertips slowly down her cheek. His touch was like velvet, but she shuddered in reaction. ‘Now you’ve matured. You’ve been through tragedy and danger. You have grown into yourself. We’re ready for each other now.’
‘You’re mistaken!’
His warm hand cupped the back of her neck and drew her face to his gently. Penny felt everything she had achieved over the last year start to sink into treacherous quicksand as her mouth approached his. She felt his breath on her lips, and closed her eyes.
‘Ryan, I don’t want this!’
‘I think you do.’ His mouth closed over hers.
For a moment it was as though she were drowning. And then her mind was flooded by passionate memories. They had been lovers once, such wonderful lovers.
It had been so long.
Desire rose in her with a force that could not be denied. She locked her arms around his strong neck and kissed him back, her body arching to his.
Ruthless Husband, Convenient Wife Page 3